


After the Fall

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Female Characters, M/M, Post Season/Series 08 Finale, Relationship(s), Slash, not going to be like Twist and Shout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean dragged Sam out of the broken down church and saw the angels falling, it looked like the world was ending. Cas was missing, maybe dead and his brother was hurt, bad. Dean saw that the road they'd been driving down led right into their graves... in a permanent way. But for the first time in his life, he had a plan to change things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean had done some long-ass road trips in his day, but the drive back from the old timber church to the Bat-cave had to be one of the longest. Dean had considered heading back to Bobby's place, but really, he wanted to be somewhere SAFE, safe. Abaddon-proof, Metatron-proof. The whole nine yards. And the bunker was the only place that fit the bill. Sammy was hurt, it made Dean sick to his stomach to even think about it. About how close he’d come to losing his brother again. His arms and hands kept doing that creepy glowing thing and every time he'd double over in his seat, groaning. Dean would glance over to make sure he wasn't going to pass out or be sick all over his car or something, try to say something helpful.

"Just let it go, Sammy, you’ll be alright."

It didn't really look like anything too Harry Potter was going to happen, the glowing thing was freaky but if Sam was going to be beamed up, Dean guessed that it already would have happened by now.

Sam caught his glance and Dean averted his eyes back to the road, his fingers tight around the steering wheel. He just wanted to get their asses back to the Bat cave. Then they could figure out what the heck they would do next about this Angel Apocalypse thing. If there was even anything they could do. If Sam was alright. In the back seat, Crowley let out another stupid sob. Sam had insisted they take him. It looked like Father Thompson's demon cure recipe worked. Crowley wasn't.... well, he wasn't is evil-ass self any more. But then he wasn't human either. Could you have a half-cured demon? Dean looked out at the dark highway ahead.

"All of those souls, so many," muttered Crowley, stifling back another sob. Dean kept his eyes on the road, "ten years wasn't long enough, why didn't I give them longer?"

"You only gave me one year," Dean muttered.

"Lucy really wanted you, you're soul was too shaggable to leave out in the sunshine," came the smart-ass reply.

Dean shook his head, even half-cured, Crowley was still a douche bag. Dean was glad that Sam had let him keep Crowley’s demonic handcuffs on. Who knew what the guy’s deal was.

"Dean!" said Sam, grabbing his thigh weakly and pointing ahead.

There was someone lying on the side of the road. Dean immediately thought of Cas, maybe he'd fallen here? Something had to have gone down, he'd prayed for the angel under his breath and he hadn't come. Where was he, dammit. He slammed on the breaks and the Impala skidded to a halt next to the crumpled shape. Dean's heart sank, it was a woman lying on the side of the road. Disheveled office clothes.

"Wait here," said Dean, getting out of the car, the cold evening air hitting him like a wall, he rounded the bonnet to crouch at her side.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and she stirred.

"Is she..." Sam trailed off, as he got out of the Impala, gingerly. Gripping his bandaged hand. Neither of the Winchesters liked to use the word 'dead' when they could avoid it.

"She's alive," Dean confirmed, the fallen angel, had to be, opened her eyes and looked up at them, an angry, red graze extended from her forehead, down the side of her face to her collar, her clothes were ripped like she'd been dragged along the road.

"You okay?" asked Dean, his hand still on her shoulder.

"Wh... where am I?" she asked.

"Um,” Dean glanced around, “About five miles out from..." but he was interrupted.

"You're on Earth," said Sam, simply. Sam was so much better at talking to these ET types.

The angel looked down slowly, taking in her clothing, she lifted a hand to the side of her face and gingerly touched the graze which healed when her fingers touched it, then pulled at a lock of her dark hair, confused.

"How can this be?" she asked, looking at the two of them, her grey eyes intense.

"We think that um..." Dean wondered where to start, "looks like something went down in heaven. Maybe it was Metatron who went all kamikaze on the angels, there were a lot of meteors and... you all fell."

"Metatron!" breathed the angel, bewildered.

"Who are you?" asked Sam.

The angel looked up at him, then around at the road, the car, the sky, it was like she wasn't sure what the answer to that question should be. She looked at Dean and then back at Sam, stuttering, she replied, "I... well, I am.... I am Coniel, Angel of Friday".

"Friday, right," said Dean, imagining one angel for each day of the week, labeled. Like those lame-ass sock sets.

"Who are you?" asked Coniel.

"I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam.

"Winchesters, I am so sorry, I didn’t recognize you, I have never taken corporeal form before, I think I have been weakened" said Coniel, her wide eyes widened further.

You know us," said Sam, coughing, "how?"

"My brother Castiel, spoke of you, Sam Winchester"

"You know Cas?" asked Dean, his heart lurching, "do you know if he's ok? Did he fall too?"

"I do not know, Dean Winchester” said Coniel, shaking her head, and then lifting her hand again to press her fingers between her eyebrows, "we were in the same garrison when the Archangels still stood. Castiel is the angel of Thursday and I am the angel of Friday," she paused, "I have seen you before, Dean Winchester, I was one of the soldiers who journeyed unto Hell to find you, the righteous man, and raise you from damnation."

"Well," said Dean, "thanks for that."

Coniel blinked, "my head hurts," she replied, "I cannot return to heaven," she looked up at the sky, narrowing her eyes.

"Well, you fell a long way, sister." said Dean.

Behind him, he heard Sam stifle a groan, he turned to see Sam's left hand pulse weirdly with light. Coniel eyed him, her face unreadable.

"Look, Connie, we have a base we really need to get back to," said Dean. He was inclined to leave this angel where she was. They had fallen all over the country, if they started picking up angels, they'd never get their asses home. Sam needed to rest. He had to find a ditch to dump Crowley in, make sure Kevin was alright (he wished he could contact the guy, but he wasn't answering his phone). Find Cas. Kill Abaddon. But then, this angel seemed to know Cas. And if she was really one of the angels that had gotten him out of hell, he guessed he owed her one.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

Slowly, she clambered to her feet. She was pretty foxy, for an angel. Tall, but not as tall as him (and nowhere near as tall as Sam), pale with long dark hair and grey eyes. She looked a bit like one of the ghosts they'd hunted a few years back. She had that sort of confused Castiel look on her face. Dean guessed most of the angels would have the same socially-awkward penguin look to them. Ana and Metatron had been exceptions to the rule, living with humans for so long that they knew not to stare.

Sam had stopped pulsing and just looked tired, weak and drawn out. Coniel stepped towards him, her fingers stretched out as though she was about to heal him, but she let her hand drop before she touched him.

"You are hurt, Sam Winchester." she said.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" asked Dean.

"No," said Coniel, "I am not well enough to see the affliction clearly."

"He just needs to rest," said Dean, opening the car door for Sam, who weakly folded himself into the seat without complaint, closing his eyes, "we all do." He was so grateful to have Sam there. Not dead. He'd listened, poured his feelings out, set everything right. No one was coming between the two of them again. They were solid. Hell could keep spewing out demons one after the other for all Dean cared. He'd spend the rest of his life ganking every last one if it meant Sammy was okay. But more than that, for the first time in his life, Dean had a long-term plan about how this was going to work. He'd taken some pretty big fish, but there was so much more to do.

"I have never needed to rest before, and yet there is a weakness inside me, I wish to shut my eyes" said Connie.

"Well, you should come with us I guess, we can shelter you till you're back to your usual smitey self, hop in." he opened the back door of the Impala for her and she climbed in.

By the time he rounded the Impala and got back into the driver's seat, Connie and Crowley were already talking.

"Are you an angel too?" asked Connie, "I cannot perceive your true visage."

"No," said Crowley, "Feathers don't suit me."

"What is your name?" asked Connie.

"Crowley."

"But that is a demon name!"

Dean turned the ignition and his baby roared to life, this drive was never going to end.

\--

Eventually Connie and Crowley had sorted out their identities. And then talked at length about salvation, forgiveness and God's love. Or, rather, Connie had talked and Crowley had looked miserable, choking back the occasional sob. It was pretty pathetic, really. From what Dean could tell, Connie was one of the angels that had thought Castiel's brief reign over heaven was one that could have ended the fighting. But she'd mostly just done as she was told, following the Archangels, then Cas then Naomi in turn. The loyal little foot soldier. She didn't question anything. Till Metatron had ejected her ass, and the asses of all the other angels. Well, Dean assumed it was Metatron. He didn't want to think of Cas willingly inflicting this much fear and pain on the world. Thousands of angels locked out of heaven, it was something like a nightmare. An army of children with no one to look after them. One angel was enough for Dean. Connie was hurt from the fall, but she was still an angel. Just one locked out of heaven. Dean tried not to imagine what was going to happen now that a plague of supercharged angels had been dumped all over the globe. There was no way that people had missed the fireball festival, it'd be all over the news.

Finally, everyone was knocked out, an angel trapped earth-side and a half-demon leaning on one another snoring quietly in the back seat, Sam riding shotgun his chin resting on his chest. Every now and then Dean made sure the poor kid was still breathing. Occasionally his arms glowed weakly and he would stir. Dean tried not to think about Sam and how he'd been during these trials. If anyone was going to make it through, it was Sam. But right now he looked so sick, Cas had said it was something that even he couldn't heal. What if it just wore him down bit by bit? And where was Cas anyway? He'd taken Dean back to Sam, Dean had saved Sam's ass... for now, at least. But Cas hadn't come back. And then the angels fell. The last step for closing the gates to hell had been an Ultimate Sacrifice, what if chucking the angels out of heaven had required the same deal? Dean shook his head, he wasn't going to think about Cas dead. Cas injured. Cas lost. Cas trapped in heaven. He turned the radio on quietly, Cowboy Junkies. Freakin' fantastic. He glanced over at Sam who was still out cold, the angel and the demon snoring in the back seat. It was almost like being completely alone. He left the music on.

\--

When they finally got back to Kansas, Dean decided to leave the others in the car and scope the place out first. He didn't want to give Kevin a coronary by hauling Crowley's ass into the bunker without explaining what had gone down first. With luck, Cas had beaten him to the punch and had already zapped himself inside. But when Dean got to the door of the bunker, his heart sank. The key was right there in the lock. Kevin had definitely been here, but Dean was guessing he was long gone by now. He opened the door slowly.

"Kevin? Cas?" he said, hopefully, looking around, a hand hovering over the gun tucked into his jeans.

The bunker was silent, the power had been cut. Dean pocketed the key and groped for his flashlight. Slowly, he made his way over to the fuse box and flipped the switch. The lights flickered on, then the sound. Dean had never seen most of the old machines working, but now they all whirred to life, it sounded like an air raid. Dean guessed that the angels falling all over earth was sorta an air raid. Dean shut off the closest machine, then another and another.

Finally, it was just the flickering orange lights on the map on the wall and on the table top. They blinked to life and then shut off again, like the signal was interrupted, or perhaps they were tracking the movements of the fallen angels. Dean honestly had no idea, this was really Sammy's department.

He did a sweep of the bunker, checking all the store rooms and even poking his head into the dungeon. The place was deserted. The angel tablet was there, it looked like Kevin had abandoned it. Along with his Prophet of the Lord gig.

“Dammit,” Dean muttered to himself. His plan was to get Kevin to read the demon tablet, now that they had both halves together, maybe he would get it nutted out faster. Figure out a way to cure Sammy. But the freakin' coward had scampered on them again. He was like a ghost, sometimes. Unreliable and probably crazy. Moving him here should have protected him. Who knew where he'd scampered off to.

 

He made his way in to the last room, his own bedroom and immediately tensed up, taking out his gun. There was stuff on his bed. He moved towards the two plastic bags, nudging one of the bags with his gun.

There was a copy of Busty Asian Beauties in it.

"What the hell," he muttered, sitting down on the bed and taking it out. It was a new issue, he hadn't seen this one before. He turned it over in his hands, then set it aside, looking in the bag again. There was a can of baked beans in there, as well as a carton of eggs. Which was pretty useful anyway, he had been meaning to make a run for some supplies when he'd given Sammy that half-drunk beer, beef jerky and three peanut butter cups for lunch. It didn't end up happening because they'd gone chasing the old priest, looking for a demon cure. He'd been mad at Cas who had offered to go with him...

He checked the other bag. There was a six pack of beer, some toilet paper (Dean had taken Chuck's advice and started hoarding the stuff, now he had somewhere to hoard it) and some beef jerky.

"Cas, you child," murmured Dean, staring down at the shopping. He blinked, opened one of the beers and took a swig.

He didn't want to think about it. The angel Naomi had said that Metatron had been neutralized, but if that was true, Cas would be back. The angels wouldn't have fallen. Something had gone down. Dean tried not to think about it, but looking over at the groceries, it was all he COULD think about. He picked up the magazine and tossed it over to the nightstand, looking around helplessly.

"Cas, where the hell are you." he whispered, "if you can hear me please just... let me know you're alright. Or I will come looking for you." he took another swig of his beer, "We've got ourselves a bit of a situation down here…. All sorts of shit has gone down…” he didn’t know what he was saying, but he wanted to keep calling, keep praying, “Where are you? If you need me to come get you, I will. I'll never be done saving your ass, Cas. I need you. I can’t do this without you. Cas I…”

Dean almost jumped out of his skin when his cell started ringing.

“Cas is that you?” asked Dean.

“Not your angel this time, just a fellow earthling,” said the voice on the line.

“Charlie.” Dean’s heart sank, “Sorry, I was expecting a call from someone else.”

“Yeah, sounds like. Your angel go AWOL?”

Dean shook his head, he really didn’t have time to chatter away to Charlie about all this, “Somethin’ like that, look Charlie…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll cut the crap. There was a worldwide meteor shower a few hours ago, I was… busy gaming at the time, but when I turned off my console, I saw it on the news. Kinda looks like it might be your sort of gig.”

“Yeah, we think that every angel in heaven just got ejected.” said Dean.

“Bad news! Anything I can do to help?”

Dean considered this, it was a genuine offer and it wasn’t like he was swimming in able-bodied allies at this stage, he got up off his bed and took his beer out to the main room.

“Honestly, not sure at the moment,” he said, “Sammy’s sick, Cas is missing and so is one of the only people I know that can help us out.”

“Well, I don’t know a lot about how to man a search and rescue aside from what I learned in War Games, but I can at least man the coffee machine and help with research, how about I come down?”

“Where are you?” asked Dean.

“At home. Farmington Hills. I won’t be there till tomorrow, possibly the day after. You know I can’t drive like you, I like sleep.”

“Alright, Charlie, why not, I need all the help I can get. Let me know when you’re close.”

“See you soon, Dr Sexy. Don’t go doing anything crazy without me.” Dean smiled,

“I won’t.”

He was sick of doing it alone, or just with Sammy. If this was going to work. If he had even a snowflake’s chance, he had to extend the network. It wasn’t just about survival any more. It was about winning.

He hung up the phone and pocketed it, looking around. The bunker made him feel safe. He should get the others inside, but he kinda enjoyed having the place to himself. He really liked the vibe of the place, the old furniture, the tiles, even the patterns in the glass of the windows. It was like living in the shell of something amazing. But he had plans to make it amazing again. The Men of Letters were gone, but the lore was all still here, and he had everything he needed to put it to use. If Sammy was ok, at least. He leaned over the map on the table, watching the orange lights blinking on and off. He picked up the angel tablet and turned it over in his hands. The demon tablet was in the Impala. With Sammy. But where was their freakin’ interpreter.

 

He’d almost finished his beer when his phone rang again. This time he checked the number before answering, it wasn’t one he recognized.

“Cas? Please tell me that this is you.”

“Hello Dean.” Dean breathed out in a huff of relief. Son of a bitch.

“Where are you Cas, are you alright?”

“It’s difficult to explain over the phone,” said Cas, “I’m just outside Chicago, the sign says Kalamazoo but I am not sure if that’s a real place…” Dean smiled.

“I’m so glad to hear your voice, man. I didn’t know if you were dead or trapped in heaven or what happened to you.”

“I’m glad you are safe as well, Dean.” He certainly sounded like his usual self. Which was a relief. Though, knowing Cas, he could be bleeding out someplace and just not have thought it was a good idea to bring it up yet.

“I’m at the bunker, zap yourself over and I’ll fill you in.” He wanted to see him. Make sure he was alright.

“I can’t, Dean, Naomi was right, Metatron had er… gone… darkside.” Dean raised an eyebrow, “He weakened me when he captured me in heaven.”

“Of course, yeah, all the angels fell, you would have as well. That makes sense.”

“I’ll attempt the journey to your bunker, I have money.”

Dean shook his head, he couldn’t risk Cas attempting to hitchhike with Metatron on his ass, and probably a whole lot of pissed off fallen angels too. He wanted to go and pick him up himself, but Sammy wouldn’t deal with another fourteen hour drive. Neither would Dean, really. Then it occurred to him.

“Cas, I’ve told you about Charlie Bradbury, haven’t I?” Dean figured Cas’ silence meant ‘yes’ so he continued, “She’s on her way over here from Farmington Hills, she’ll be going right past you, I’ll get her to give you a lift. “

“That would probably be more efficient, yes. There is a BigGersons. I can wait there.”

“I’ll give her a call and let her know.”

“Thankyou Dean.”


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie wasn’t a huge fan of BigGerson’s. The smell of burnt coffee reminded her too much of Richard Roman Enterprises (bad bad evilness) and the color scheme was like something out of a Geocities web forum from the 90’s. Dean had said the angel would be wearing a dirty trench-coat and sitting, looking awkward and not eating. The awkward looking man in the trench coat, however, was definitely eating. It looked like he had already polished off two burgers and a large beer-battered tempura tempter. He was checking out the menu again when she reached his table.

“Castiel?” she asked, this was going to be kinda awkward if she’d picked the wrong guy. But he looked basically like what she’d pictured from Carver Edlund’s books. Angelic and… fine, dreamy (for a dude, at least).

“Hello Charlie,” said Cas, gesturing to the chair opposite. His voice! Yowza!

“Sorry if you had to wait a while for me to get here.” Charlie took a seat and Cas moved an empty plate out of her way.

“That’s alright, I successfully entertained myself.” Said Cas, gesturing to the food.

“Wait,” said Charlie, her eyes darting at the food and then up to Cas, “I read that you ate that time Famine came to town… is Famine here? Are we all going to die?”

“No, Famine is not here.” Said Cas, mildly.

“Oh…” said Charlie, “Well, sorry… mild panicking is kinda my thing when I meet random book characters in the real world.” She paused, Cas stared, “I can’t believe it’s you, honestly.” Shutting UP now. Jeez.

“You are referring to the Gospel according to Chuck.” Said Cas, knowledgeably, “I am not a book character, Charlie.”

“Hate to break it to you,” said Charlie, “but you sort of are.” Cas was other stuff too. But a book character? Most definitely.

Castiel shrugged, it was an oddly human gesture for an angel. He’d probably picked it up off Sam or Dean. He had been dealing with humans for quite a while now, Charlie guessed. The waitress came over to the table and asked if they’d like anything. Charlie ordered a coffee with extra foam, Cas asked for pie.

“Coffee is a stimulant,” said Cas, “I have never consumed enough in order for it to have an effect on me.”

“It’s wonderful and horrible at the same time,” said Charlie, she was pretty intrigued by this angel business. She’d never met one before, well, probably hadn’t ever met one before, “So tell me about you. What’s it like being an angel?”

Cas shrugged, “I am not sure how to compare it to anything else.”

“Well, um,” she didn’t want to bring up Castiel’s recent history, she wasn’t sure how he would react by being questioned about his fall by a stranger. “What’s heaven like? There… is a heaven, it’s an actual literal place, right?”

Cas nodded, “There’s definitely a heaven but it’s… Not as heavenly as mankind has imagined.”

“That’s disappointing, but oddly unsurprising,” Charlie remarked, “Nothing’s ever as good as the advertisements. But wait, heaven’s your home, you don’t think it’s that great?”

“Even if I did, I have been locked out now,” said Cas, “I seem to have too many enemies up there, and I do rather like it here”.

Charlie raised an eyebrow very slightly and suppressed a grin. She’d seen the subtext waving around in the latter part of Edlund’s series. She wasn’t a dummy.

“Anything you like… specifically?” she asked.

Cas shrugged and looked around as the waitress placed his pie and Charlie’s coffee onto the table.

“I really like pie,” said Cas.

“I see.” Charlie bit back another grin, nodding.

\--

Charlie liked to think of herself as organized and largely indispensable. She’d booked ahead. A motel room just south of Chicago. She figured she’d be ready to pass out by the time they’d driven that far and she wasn’t letting the angel into the driver’s seat. Super Saiyan reflexes or not.

They walked up to their motel room, exhausted. The room was small and simple, blue and grey. It had one queen bed in each corner and a nightstand beside each. On the wall above, was a framed photo of a teenage girl by Lake Michigan, holding an impressively large fish.

“I know you don’t really need to sleep, but I figured you’d want your own space,” said Charlie, gesturing to the beds by way of explanation.

“It’s fine.” Said Cas, “My vessel was damaged when I fell, resting might be conducive to my recovery.”

“Wow,” said Charlie, “sleeping AND eating, people might start suspecting you’re a real boy!”

Cas swept past her to poke his head into the bathroom. “This place looks fairly secure,” he said, after a minute, placing his bag down on his bed.

“I wasn’t really imagining that we’d be needing much security, we’re not Winchesters, after all.” Said Charlie, laughing.

“I don’t suppose we are,” said Cas, thoughtfully.

He turned to start digging his way through the mini-bar and she headed in to the bathroom. She really wanted to question Cas more about what had gone down in heaven. Dean had given her a rough outline - Cas had been captured by a Transformer and then, they assumed, the third angel trial had been happened which had caused all the angels, including Cas, to be kicked out of heaven. Dean had asked her not to question Cas too much. It was likely he was feeling pretty bad about being tricked. Unless he MEANT for the angels to all fall. The third trial had happened somehow. But he seemed… well, fine. A little quiet, but fine other than that. She got out her phone and sent Dean a text;

“ _Picked up Cas, staying overnight at a motel, will be arriving tomorrow night. Cas is fine. Powered down from the fall, just like you said, see you soon :)_ ”

\--

Charlie woke in the middle of the night, sitting bolt upright in her bed… was that, crying? Angels didn’t cry, did they? She rubbed at her eyes and looked around. Which was when she noticed the creepy pale girl with a knife to Castiel’s neck. Her heart lurched in her chest. Cas’s face looked calm, knives couldn’t kill angels, could they? He was kneeling up in bed, he must have been caught as unaware as she was. He was gripping onto the girl’s wrist with both hands, trying to keep the knife away but it was so close to his neck. Charlie wasn’t sure if the knife would hurt him, her mind was blanking. Crap. The girl was wearing pajamas, tears streaming down her face, she looked like she was about fourteen. It was so cold in the room. When Charlie gasped, the cold air bit sharply into her lungs. Her eyes found Cas’s. He nodded at her, his eyes trying to tell her something,

What? What was he nodding at? She groped around for her bag, it was here somewhere, she didn’t dare take her eyes off Cas’. It was as though he was searing into her soul. He shook his head a fraction and then nodded again. Not at Charlie, but just next to her, the nightstand.

“Salt!” he grunted.

The girl sobbed again, the knife quivering.

“It’s your fault!” she screamed, “all of it, your fault!”

Charlie glanced down at the nightstand as quick as she could. The remains of Cas’ late night snack sat there and next to the cutlery was the salt shaker. Charlie grabbed at it, stepped towards the ghost while she frantically undid the lid, her cold fingers shaking. She tossed the lot of it as hard as she could into the girl’s face. The girl turned to screech at Charlie but flickered and vanished when the salt hit her. Cas toppled forward and almost fell off the bed. The knife fell, uselessly to the ground

Charlie dropped the empty salt shaker and ran to him, grasping his shoulder, “Cas, are you alright?” she gasped.

Cas shook his head, coughed and then nodded.

“Shame we’re such…” he gasped, “heavy sleepers.”

“That was a ghost, wasn’t it,” said Charlie, looking around, “and I just used up all the damn salt!”

“I prefer no salt and my head still attached,” Cas replied mildly, picking up the knife and inspecting it.

Charlie knelt down and scraped at the carpet, uselessly. The little grains of salt would bounce up from the thick carpet as she pushed at them, but wouldn’t collect together. If only she’d gotten them a cheaper motel, the carpet would be flat from years of use. And probably less haunted. Dammit!

“What do we do?” she asked, looking up at Cas, “do we run?”

Cas caught her eye, “would you like to tell Dean and Sam that we ran from a teenage ghost?”

“Well, no,” said Charlie, “we could just…” she stammered, “ok, ok, fine, how do we deal with her?”

“The traditional method is to salt and burn the bones of the ghost’s body…”

The room was getting cold again, Charlie could see her breath, coming out of her mouth, the edges of the glass photo frame on the wall were icing up.

“Wait a second,” said Cas, looking up at it.

“She’s coming back, said Charlie,” looking around the room, she saw the ghost flicker, then she was there, standing in a corner, her eyes red. The only thing Charlie could think of was keeping the ghost away from the knife in Cas’ bed. Away from the weapons in her own backpack. And she was Charlie Bradbury, dammit, she’d kick it in the ass! She ran towards the girl and launched herself at her, grabbing for her wrists. She caught one but missed the other. The ghost screeched at her and yanked, hard, on her hair. Charlie kicked at the ghost, hitting her squarely in the stomach with her knee. The girl dropped and dragged Charlie down with her, the girl caught her off-balance enough to get her into a headlock. Charlie flailed, grabbing up at the girl’s head and trying to press thumbs into her eye sockets. She couldn’t breathe, her heart was hammering in her chest, she pressed harder and the girl loosened her grip enough for Charlie to get free. She head-butted the girl in the jaw on her way up, grabbing her around the neck and shaking her. The girl screamed and burst into flames. Charlie darted back just in time, the heat was intense, especially after the icy cold air in the room a moment beforehand. It seared against her skin. She turned, Cas stood on on the other side of the room holding the photograph that had been on the wall, the frame was at his feet, the print itself was now in flames.

“She’d signed the back of the photo,” said Castiel, pocketing the cigarette lighter, “I assume that was enough.”

“How did you…”

“I didn’t,” said Cas, shrugging, “I guessed. It seemed too coincidental… the ghost girl was in the photograph.”

“I suppose she can’t have been a very old ghost, or she’d have been in a nightdress instead of cute PJ’s,” said Charlie, “younger ghosts can’t travel far away from whatever it is they’re haunting.”

She sat back against the wall and pulled her knees in close, resting her forehead on them.

“Shit,” she said, breathing hard.

She heard Cas drop the last piece of the photograph into the trash can and then sit down on his bed. She looked up at him, “she didn’t like you, that’s for sure.”

“It is strange,” agreed Castiel, “I never knew her.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like Angels,” said Charlie.

Cas shrugged, “you need more rest,” he said, looking out the window.

Charlie laughed, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep after _THAT_ ,” she said, “why don’t we just hit the road. I can stop and have some shut-eye in the car if I need it.”

They hightailed it out of there fairly quick. Neither one of them wanting to admit that the teenage girl had been their first ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you can't tell, I've really missed the Monster of the Week format. I love epic drama too, but there's something about a good old fashioned tussle.
> 
> I own nothing except the canon!fail and the mistakes. Please let me know if you notice any.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks. In fact, he’d only been up for about half an hour and in that time all he’d done was shower and change. Really, really slowly. The last thing he’d done before passing out the night before had been to help Dean get Crowley into the dungeon and make sure Coniel was comfortable. She liked the bunker, said it was peaceful. He wasn’t really sure what his feelings were doing. Guilt weighed down on him like an anchor, he’d almost cured a demon, almost shut the gates of hell. He’d almost left Dean on his own forever. He wasn’t sure which part was more insane. But then he hadn’t gone through with any of it. Dean had asked him to stop and he had. He guessed, in the end, dying on Dean would have been one let down too many. But now what? Every demon that wasted a human from now on, would be Sam’s fault. Because of a selfish decision Sam had made. He probably already had blood on his hands. How was that supposed to be okay?

Pain. Like an electrical charge shot through his body, he closed his eyes, every muscle tensing and tried to make his mind go blank. Part of him still wanted to go through with it. Head down to the dungeon right now and finish the demon cure. Just thinking about it, he could feel the pain intensifying. He knew if he opened his eyes again, his fingertips would be glowing. He wanted to see Crowley again, figure something out. He buried the thought at the back of his mind and the pain subsided. It was alright, he could keep a handle on it, do some research and figure out how to fix this. He headed out of his room.

“Dean?” he asked.

“In here,” said Dean.

Sam followed his voice to the library. Dean was sitting at the table, red eyed and rumpled, the angel Coniel was opposite him staring, confused, at a book in front of her. The whole room was littered with books. Some were stacked neatly, others lay open on the floor, pages crushed underneath their heavy covers. One sat next to Dean with a beef jerky wrapper shoved between it’s pages like a bookmark. Two empty beers rested on top of it.

“Up all night?” asked Sam, it wasn’t really a question.

Dean didn’t reply, just looked around at the mess and then back up at Sam.

“You should have told me, I could have helped,” said Sam.

“What you needed,” Dean began, “was sleep. And now you need food. And to not think about this shit-storm for a while.”

“Didn’t find anything then, huh?” asked Sam.

Dean stared at him, unamused, then stood, shutting the book he’d been looking at. “Not a damn, thing,” he said, “I think maybe your glowing hands situation is a bit specific for most of this crap.”

“I’d say so,” said Sam, picking up one of the books to read the cover and then dropping it onto the table again. “It’s not that bad any more,” he lied, “if I don’t think about Crowley, I feel almost normal.”

“Freakin’ Crowley, man, I’m dying to gank the douche.”

“Don’t do that,” said Sam, hastily.

“Why? He’s no good to us, he ‘aint human. He’s still the same sadistic monster but now he’s on a freakin’ guilt trip to nowhere.”

“He might be useful to us alive, like, if we need his blood to end the spell or something.”

“Yeah, the spell,” said Dean, reaching into Sam’s bag on the floor to pull out the demon tablet, “I feel like the answer’s on here someplace but…”

“You have two tablets,” said Coniel, watching Dean.

Dean shrugged, “sure, but no way of reading them now that our prophet’s gone.”

“Where is the other?” asked Coniel.

“Oh, it’s just out in the control room, let me go get it,” said Sam.

He stumbled on his way out, but he didn’t think Coniel or Dean would notice, they were both pretty absorbed in that demon tablet.

The angel tablet was out in the main control room, sitting on top of the map of the world. When Sam lifted it, he noticed that just underneath where it had been sitting, one of the orange lights had just blinked on. He waved the tablet over the map, experimentally and the lights blinked off in a wave, right across the map underneath. He figured it must have some sort of energy coming off it that was interfering with the electrical signal. Turning it over in his hands, it looked like it always had. He took it into the library.

“Coniel, do these things give off any kind of energy?”

Coniel nodded, “yes, they are Sacred Objects, Sam Winchester.”

“Connie,” Said Dean, warningly.

“Sorry. They are Sacred Objects… Sam.” She said, nodding.

Sam couldn’t help but give Dean a sidelong smile. Jerk.

“Why do you ask?” asked Dean.

“Just now, I noticed the tablet interfering with the lights on the map out there,” said Sam, putting the angel tablet down next to it’s demonic twin.

The text on both the tablets shone a intense white light that slowly faded to a lower, pulsing one. Coniel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Huh,” said Sam, picking up the demon tablet. The light faded more, but re-intensified when he set it down next to the angel tablet again.

“Well,” said Dean, “if that ‘aint some kind of Prophet homing beacon, I don’t know what is.”

For the first time since the fall, Sam felt a small flicker of hope.

\--

Sam was supposed to be in bed. Dean - finding no lore whatsoever, and with no idea where to start looking for Kevin - had crashed out. The dungeon reeked of sulfur. Crowley sat in the corner, manacles around his wrists, staring up at the ceiling. And Sam really shouldn’t be watching him. Being near Crowley made his fingers ache, he looked down at them to see that they were glowing very faintly. He stuffed them into his pockets, out of the way. He could still feel them, like an insistent painful pull towards the twisted creature in the corner. He was confused by Crowley. The cure had been working. Crowley had said some stuff back at the church, stuff he never would have said before. It freaked him out a bit, that he was pure enough to cure a demon with his own blood. That he had almost something of cosmic significance. Again. What the heck.

“Ch-ch-Changes” sang Crowley, jangling his manacles.

“Crowley,” said Sam, stepping out so that he could be seen. It’d be weird if Crowley caught him silently watching from the other side of the room.

“Moose!” muttered Crowley, his eyes alight.

“Uh… How you feeling?” asked Sam.

“Oh I’m fantastic,” said Crowley, sarcastically, rolling his eyes, “You’d better be here to kill me or let me go. Just sitting around is going to KILL ME!”, he bellowed the last two words and Sam frantically shushed him.

“Dean’s asleep,” said Sam. He probably shouldn’t be down here alone, but he had to see.

“Is he? So we’re all alone. You and me, ready for another foxhole moment, Moose?”

Sam shook his head, “I’m here to ask you a question,” he said.

“Why did I kill Tommy?” asked Crowley, “Why did Jenny and Sarah have to die? Don’t you see Sam! I am. I was… the KING of Hell! The demons loved me, LOVED me! I was their KING! And you were going to cut me off from all the action. I had no choice. Destroy the Winchesters’ life’s work. I had to make you stop, Sam.”

Sam took a step towards Crowley, “No choice?” he asked, offended. Of course Crowley had a choice. Everything he’d done as the King of Hell was his own choice. Heck, even becoming the King of Hell would have been Crowley’s own choice. The guy was practically a mascot for team free-will. Unlike Sam. Sometimes it felt like nothing that had happened since Jess died had been his own choice. Dean picked the music, drove the car, called the shots. All the decisions Sam HAD made were ones he regretted. Drinking demon blood, not telling anyone about his soul being gone, not looking for Dean in Purgatory, neglecting Kevin, setting Martin on Benny. The list was getting longer and longer. Dean was right not to trust his judgment. Yet he wanted him to stick around, despite that.

Tears were running down Crowley’s cheeks, “I loved it. We were at war, it was simple. I had fun.” He spat the last word with force, though, he did keep his voice down.

Sam shrugged, it was true. The guy was a monster. Probably still was. Sam leaned against a bookshelf, his hands resolutely in his pockets and watched him. He didn’t trust himself alone with the guy for much longer. And if Dean were to catch him down here…

“What are you staring at,” snapped Crowley.

“Not sure,” said Sam, truthfully. The King of Hell, a pathetic monster who just wanted to be loved. Or something like that.

“Why didn’t you let Abaddon kill me, Sam?” asked Crowley.

“I wanted to finish the trial, close the gates of hell” Sam told him, “if she killed you before we finished, it wouldn’t have worked.” Releasing Abaddon had been one mistake that wasn’t completely his fault. He still felt the guilt of it tugging at him. By now she would have found a new meat-suit. Someone new to have a lifetime of post-traumatic stress (if they got out of being possessed in one piece, that is).

Crowley hung his head like he’d been betrayed. “Just kill me,” he said. His voice, hollow.

“Not today, Crowley,” said Sam, and he left him sniveling there in the corner.

\--

Dean’s phone was right next to Sam when it buzzed. The text from Charlie was a short one; _Hit me with your Questions Three, We’re out the front_.

“Dean,” called Sam, “Charlie and Cas are here,” he climbed the stairs to the mezzanine level of the control room, turned the key and slowly pulled the iron door open. His hand pulsed with pain that vanished as soon as he let go. Charlie beamed at him, Cas just looked… tired.

“Hey guys,” said Sam, “heard about your ghost, you alright?”

“We are fine,” said Cas, striding inside and over to the railing.

“Heya Sam,” said Charlie, hugging him and closing the door behind her. They headed down the stairs together just as Coniel was coming in from the library.

“Hello!” Coniel, her face impassive.

Cas looked over at Sam, inquisitively.

“Weird,” said Sam, “I thought you would recognize her.” He shrugged looking from Castiel to Coniel. The two of them looked like their vessels could be related. Similar heights, same coloring. But more than that, it was the way they held themselves. Their posture, where they put their hands, how they both balanced exactly half their weight on either foot. It was actually kinda uncanny.

“Cas, Charlie, this is the angel Coniel. Coniel, this is Charlie a… human? I guess? And the angel Castiel.”

Castiel and Coniel stared at each other, their faces mirroring one another’s emotions. Dean came into the command room, nodding a greeting to Charlie just as Coniel spoke.

“Castiel.”

“Coniel, it’s you.” said Cas, grasping her upper arms. The two angels looked at each other eyes wide, then Cas sighed, closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Coniel’s. Coniel shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around him and they stood like that.

Dean’s pace slowed, he looked at the angels and then quizzically at Sam. Sam shrugged. Coniel was clearly different to Ana Milton or Balthazar or any of the other angels they’d met so far. She meant more to Cas. She was more like Cas. Sam wondered if there was some sort of angel buddy system. Like in school when you’re too young to leave class on your own and you always had to take a partner with you.

“Dude,” muttered Dean, sidling up to Sam and Charlie, his eyes intense, “what the hell.”

“Don’t look at me, man.” Said Charlie. Sam shrugged again.

Cas and Coniel didn’t look like they were going anywhere. Dean looked bewildered. Sam knew he’d been looking forward to Cas getting back. Making sure he was okay. That was Dean’s thing. Looking after people. Saving people. But Cas didn’t really look like he needed much saving at the moment. Perhaps a room, maybe not, knowing what Cas was like. Sam cleared his throat, loudly.

Cas opened his eyes and straightened up.

“Apologies, it’s just, ah,” he squeezed Coniel’s arms before he let go and backed out of her embrace.

“It’s been a long time.” Finished Coniel. Grasping one of his wrists.

“Hello Dean,” said Cas, nodding at him.

Dean didn’t reply.

“Awkward,” said Charlie in an undertone.

“Castiel, I do not understand,” said Coniel, fixing him with another intense stare, “I do not recognize you. I cannot feel your grace. I must have been injured by my fall more than I suspected or…” She touched her throat and then touched the same point on Cas’s neck, “your grace is… gone?” Sam could tell it wasn’t really a question.

“What do you mean, his grace is gone?” asked Dean, his voice was on edge. He was tired, upset, stressed. Sam knew that voice.

“My grace was removed by Metatron when he captured me in heaven. I was the third trial,” said Cas.

“What happens when you remove an Angel’s grace?” asked Sam, he had a feeling he knew the answer.

“No, Castiel,” said Coniel, her voice wavering as she released his wrist.

Cas looked from Coniel to Sam. From Sam to Charlie. From Charlie to Dean. Dean was staring at the floor. But he said it to him anyway, “When an angel’s grace is taken away and they fall from heaven, they become a human.”

The word ‘human’ hung heavily in the air. No one said anything. Slowly Dean looked up at him.

“So… you’re human now?” he asked, his voice almost accusatory.

“Son of a bitch,” said Charlie, “that’s why you ate at BigGersons and why you slept in the motel room last night and why you’ve been stealing my gummy bears all day. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cas shrugged. Which is when the truth really hit Sam. He’d never seen the guy shrug before. It looked so strange on him. But Cas had been doing trials too, in order to lock himself and all the other angels inside heaven so that he could fix it. Sam had been doing his three trials to try and close the gates of hell in order to fix earth. They had both had to sacrifice themselves. Sam had been given the choice and chose not to because Dean needed him and he couldn’t fail him again. Cas had that decision taken away. Sam felt a rush of sympathy for the guy. He looked so lost. He’d lived as a human called “Emmanuel” before, but that was more forgetting he was an angel rather than losing his grace. Or having it ripped out from him. Sam knew that Cas hadn’t kicked out the angels himself. He would never throw his brothers and sisters from their home, burning their wings as they fell. Not if he felt for them the way he clearly felt about Coniel. Sam was sure that whatever guilt he felt at the moment about his decision, Cas’s was far worse.

“Hey, it’s ok, Cas,” he found himself saying, “the most important thing is that you’re here… and that you’re safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing except the canon!fail and the mistakes. Please let me know if you notice any.


	4. Chapter 4

Kevin’s palms were sweaty. It was a ridiculous thing to think about, his palms being sweaty. His mind was panicking a bit. He’d felt his hand slide as he grabbed a balustrade in order to swing himself around the landing of the noisy iron stairs. He’d almost slipped. He was out of breath, his lungs were screaming for more air, his toes felt hot and zinged with blood as he threw himself down the next flight of stairs. He could barely hear the sounds of his pursuer following him over the sound of his own breath huffing. His mouth felt icy cold, his teeth hurt. His head pounded as he jumped and reached the next landing. This wasn’t new. He had run before. He’d gotten away from it all. Crowley, the Leviathans, the death and the fear. He’d hidden out in a church for months before he was sucked back into it again. He liked to blame the Winchesters for that, but he was starting to think it was inevitable. He didn’t want to be a word-keeper, but he was in it now. Always and forever. Wherever God was, Kevin sure hoped he was enjoying himself. What had happened to his life? That this. Running, fighting, killing… was basically to be expected. He’d lost a finger, his girlfriend, his mother. He had no friends and no home. And right now, he was in danger of losing the very last thing he still gripped on to. His own life.

He ducked around a corner into an alleyway and pressed his back against the wall. He held his breath. The screaming in his lungs intensified and his whole body pulsed with his vicious heartbeat. He screwed his eyes closed, tightly and prayed that the demon chasing him would pass him by. He should have raided the Winchesters’ bunker for weapons. In his bag, he had a change of clothes, some cash and some food. He could hardly throw a vegetarian sausage at a demon and expect it to burst into flames. Even some spray paint to make a devil’s trap. He didn’t need much.

He heard the footsteps run past his hiding place and, slowly, quietly allowed himself to take a breath and look around. He wished he could just disappear. Crowley had made sure all the demons in hell knew his face. It was foolish to believe that he’d be able to escape. Castiel had been right. This was his life now. The unfairness of it weighed on him so heavily he could hardly breathe. All he wanted was for everything to go back to the way it had been before. For his mom to be alright. Hell, the calluses on his fingertips were almost gone, he hadn’t played cello in so long. Now all he had were grazed knuckles and sweaty palms.

He choked back a sob, the emotion was ripping it’s way out of him. This had somehow been the last straw. He couldn’t travel by himself any more. Nowhere was safe. Perhaps he was better off dead.

When the demon rounded the corner, time seemed to slow down. Kevin had no way of fighting him off. He was cornered, pathetic, lost. He looked up at the sky as his knees gave out and he sank down to the ground. The demon reached for him. Wherever God was, he didn’t know if he was still alive, but wherever he was, he was sorry for walking out. Leaving the tablets, forgetting his duty. He shut his eyes and relaxed his body. Waiting for the final blow. But it didn’t come. Kevin heard the demon yell out in pain and, even with his eyes shut tight, he saw the flash of light as the demon was exorcised. He opened his eyes, gasping. Someone he didn’t recognize stood there, his hand outstretched where the demon’s head had been. An angel then.

“Wh… what’s going on? Who are you?” stuttered Kevin.

“I’m the angel Paul,” said the man, his dark beard wiggled while he talked but his eyes were stern, “and you are very lost.”

Kevin tried not to let his emotions overwhelm him again as he nodded.

Paul reached out for him, took his hand and pulled him up.

“There will be more demons,” said Paul, “I can protect you”

“Angels have tried to protect me before,” said Kevin, leaning heavily against the wall, he was still out of breath, “the Leviathans killed them.”

“I heard of this,” agreed Paul, “but these demons you are running from have destroyed all the Leviathans and so our task is easier.”

Kevin blinked. He had been having nightmares with Leviathans. Torturing him, feeding him poisoned meat. The only thing he feared more was the Demon King, Crowley.

“Really?” he asked stupidly.

Paul’s face was impassive, but Kevin could see his eyes shining.

“Yes,” said Paul, “it was one of the last things I heard in Heaven.”

A loud rustling noise came from further down the laneway. They both turned to look, but it was too dark to tell if there was a cat or something more sinister down there.

“I cannot fly, but I think it might be a good idea for us to move,” said Paul.

\--

Kevin and Paul traveled together. At first Paul seemed like he was happy to let Kevin wander, but after a while it became clear that he was definitely guiding him, though not geographically. Paul had been a human before he became an angel. Kevin didn’t even know that humans could become angels. But it made sense. If humans could become demons, they could become angels too. But not only had he once been a human, when he was human he had been THE Paul. As in Paul the Apostle. He had plenty of experience with the word of God, he had been a prophet himself. The way he spoke about his life and the reverence he had for the work he’d been given made Kevin feel… guilty? He had no reverence for the work he’d been doing. Pitching his own free will against the will of the demon tablet. The soul-level desire to translate the text was his only motivation. Paul revered the work as his holy task. Which, Kevin guessed, it kinda was. But for some reason, stuff seemed holier when it happened more than a thousand years ago. How could Kevin or anyone really, be doing something so holy in the age of computer games and machine guns?

Kevin was not surprised to learn how Paul had come to earth. Kevin had heard the angel, Naomi over Dean’s phone explaining that Metatron’s goal had been to cast out all the angels from heaven. Kevin had seen the meteor shower shortly afterward. It all made sense, but Kevin honestly wasn’t sure whether he cared. At least, he wasn’t sure until he and Paul came across an angel lying face-down in a gutter. Kevin would have guessed that it was just a homeless girl but Paul ran towards her and fell, hard, onto his knees by her side. Kevin’s heart started thumping, his nerves were shot. He stood back as Paul lifted her from the gutter. Her brown hair obscuring her face.

“Adriel,” he yelled, shaking her.

Her head lolled backwards and then forwards. Kevin came to a stop close to the two of them and watched as Paul frantically looked into her eyes and shook her by the hands. She wasn’t responding to him yelling her name. It looked like she was dead, but he knew from reading the angel tablet that this wasn’t how angels died. There should be smoke in the shape of wings. Unless she’d been moved or something. He crouched beside a frantic Paul. The girl was beautiful. She was actually stunning. She had a small rosy mouth, a button nose, beautiful long lashes.

Paul turned to him, “I can feel her grace, she has not died,” he said.

Unthinking, Kevin held out a hand to stop Paul from shaking her. He touched her cheek and felt a jolt of something. She was warm. She was breathing.

“Has she been attacked?” he asked Paul

“It’s impossible to say,” he replied, “she might have been hurt when she fell.”

The absurd pick-up line ‘did it hurt when you fell from heaven’ danced it’s way madly through Kevin’s head.

“Is she injured?” he asked.

They checked her together and found a long cut across her stomach.

“Could have been a demon, attacked her with her own blade,” surmised Paul.

Kevin looked around, they were alone, but his heart was still beating wildly in his chest. He could feel the blood pumping through his limbs, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

The girl stirred, looking up at Kevin and Paul.

“Be careful,” she said, her voice ringing like a bell, “he is near…” her eyes widened, looking at a point behind them. Kevin didn’t need to guess.

Paul sprang to action, drawing his angel blade and swinging down fast. The demon jumped out of the way just in time. The demon was young, female, fit. She moved quickly with an angel blade of her own. Adriel’s. Kevin reached into his bag and rifled through it, looking for something. Anything that would help. His fingers closed around some salt he’d stolen from the Winchesters’ bunker. His shaking fingers undid the lid. Paul cried out as the demon’s blade cut into his arm. Kevin stood, unthinking, breathing hard. He ducked low, scuttled forwards and threw the salt into the demon’s face. She stalled for just a second, but it was enough. Paul drove his blade into the demon’s heart and she screamed, dying. Her essence smoking from her vessel and sinking down back to hell.

Paul leaned down, his hands on his knees. Turning his head to Kevin he huffed, “not bad, son.”

Kevin couldn’t help but smile, “I know where we can go. Somewhere safe, for all three of us.” He said.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel hadn’t been avoiding Dean but he knew that meeting with him would involve certain issues being discussed. He had a mountain of guilt to contend with and not telling Dean he had become human was just the tip of the iceberg. The Winchesters had been right. Metatron had been lying. Using him to cast out all the angels from heaven. He had believed. He had been wrong. The mess he had made of heaven - that mess which he had tried so hard not to witness - was worse. He had feared that if he went to heaven and saw the damage he had wrought, he would want to kill himself. And now that damage was here, on earth. He hadn’t avoided Dean intentionally, he had simply endeavored to keep himself busy. Too busy to feel. Too busy to think. It had worked in some regards. He felt things so much more strongly now that he was human. Mortal emotions were a force to contend with. He had never cried before, but felt the sensation prickling at his eyes more than once since he fell. The bunker made him feel safe. He was glad that he and Charlie had arrived here safely. Since he had arrived, he and Coniel had worked together with Sam to help him. They had drawn talismans on his arms which had dulled the pain and then sat with him, his hands on the floor, attempting to help him ground the rest of the energy from the trials. Castiel had no idea if it had worked, Coniel insisted it had, but Castiel hadn’t felt anything. Not that he would be able to. His grace stripped from him. He was just like any other human now.

Humanity had presented other issues as well. Castiel knew how to shower, how to eat, how to use a bathroom. He had been watching humans do it all for eons. It was the more subtle things that humans taught themselves when they were toddlers. Balance. How to tell the difference between whether he was hungry or thirsty. How to stop his emotions from exploding over, exactly how amazing a sneeze felt. A wardrobe. He had asked Sam, quietly, whether he could find some new clothing for him. His suit and trench coat were filthy, and they were starting to smell. When he was an angel, his grace seemed to cleanse the clothing he wore. Now that was no longer the case.

Sam returned with a bundle of clothing. Jeans, a black t-shirt, a red plaid shirt. They were Dean’s.

“Nothing of mine is going to fit you,” he said, handing Castiel the clothes, “these are Dean’s.”

“Thankyou,” said Castiel, taking them.

“Dean’s done briefing Charlie, he wants to talk to you,” said Sam.

“Soon,” Castiel said, nodding and Sam left. The room they had given him was small, but functional. A bed, a desk, a washroom, an empty wardrobe. He liked it.

\--

The warmth from the shower felt strange, but welcoming, when Castiel turned on the taps. He had showered before, as Emmanuel, not that he’d needed to. But this was like a revelation; stepping under the warm water and really feeling it for the first time. The warmth soaked into his hair, ran down his back in small rivulets. He breathed in the steam, letting his head fall back. He ran his hands along his upper arms, gently scrubbing off the grime from the fall and the journey here. The hot water beat on his back, he could feel his skin softening under it’s warm caress. He shifted, carefully, the tiles under his feet were slippery. When he looked down he realized there might be one other ‘human thing’ he’d need to take care of before he spoke to Dean. He knew how the mechanics worked, it was just a matter of putting theory into practice. 

\--

Dean was working at his desk when Castiel came to see him. He was nervous, he had barely spoken to the man since the fall, but he felt like Dean had changed somehow. Maybe it was because he was human, he couldn’t quite separate his own feelings from the narrative inside his brain. But it seemed like Dean had gotten taller, more solid, in charge of things. Somehow. He knocked on the door frame and Dean looked over his shoulder, shifting under the desk as he surveyed him. He caught Cas’s eye, then looked him over, slowly.

“Hello Dean,” said Cas.

Dean nodded and blinked, “the clothes suit you,” he remarked, tilting his head to the side, briefly.

Cas glanced down at them. Perhaps he didn’t fill them out as well as Dean did, but they weren’t too large. He was thankful that he hadn’t needed to borrow any of Sam’s clothes after all.

“Thankyou,” he said.

“Come in, take a seat,” said Dean, standing and turning his desk chair for Cas. He sat down on the bed.

Cas headed over and sat, stiffly.

Dean didn’t speak right away. He just looked at Cas, hands on his knees. The intensity of Dean’s gaze made Cas want to look away. But habit had him hold it.

“Where do I start with you?” asked Dean. Cas let the silence envelop them again, “cuz right now, Cas, I don’t know whether to hug you or punch you.”

“Why?” asked Cas.

“Well, for a start, I was terrified when I saw that freakin’ angel meteor shower, Cas. I knew something serious had gone down. I figured you were dead. Or trapped in heaven forever. Then when you rang, I didn’t know if you’d been double crossed by Metatron or if you’d ejected the angels yourself. Then you get here and you’re human now? No more angel wings and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I thought it would be best if you weren’t troubled by my reappearance, I knew you would be busy here,” said Cas.

“Busy here?” asked Dean, standing up, “I wouldn’t have compromised your safety by making you travel without me,” he growled, pacing.

Cas flinched away.

“You’re a sitting duck at the moment, Cas.”

“I might be a ‘sitting duck’, but I am not worth your time in my present condition.”

“What?” asked Dean, sitting back down on the bed.

“Dean. I am human. I fell and I was scared. I wanted to be somewhere safe. As soon as I arrived here, I realized something. You don’t need me. Every decision I have made has ended badly. I don’t deserve protecting, I am not worth anything to your cause.”

It hurt, saying words like this. He could feel something burning the back of his throat. He looked down at the floor.

“Cas,” said Dean, quietly, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, Cas looked back up at Dean to find all the anger gone from his face.

“You are not. Useless. You never have been. You have more stuff in your head about the universe and all the supernatural shit that lives in it than Sam’s whole library does. You can fight demons with or without your angel wings. You figured out how to torch a ghost and saved a damsel in distress last night. You might not be the best at tactics, but leave that shit to me and Sam. I don’t care if all you do from now on is write out Ennochian translations, give us the 4-1-1 on couple of these angels and wash the dishes. I want you here, Cas.”

Cas felt his will break, tears streamed down his cheeks, splashing, cold, onto his hands. He held Dean’s gaze and tried to stay as still as possible. Maybe they would stop.

“Hey, man,” said Dean, dropping to crouch next to Cas’s chair, “you alright?”

“It’s just this human thing… I’m not used to…” Cas shook his head, “I just have a lot of feelings, okay?”

Dean stared up at him, incredulously. A slow smile creeping onto his face.

“Seriously?”

“I’ve never had to contend with this level of emotional response before,” said Cas, “It’s challenging. I am not sure how you manage it.”

Dean put a hand on his knee, “talk to me,” he said, it wasn’t the first time he’d asked that of Cas.

“Dean I…” the tears had stopped, at least, “I don’t know where to go from here. What my purpose is. Metatron ripped my grace out from me and now I’m here. I was created as an angel, this is my first time being human. Really being human. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well,” said Dean, easing himself back onto the bed, “we can figure all that out.” He ran a hand across his stubble, “look, I’m tired of running. We’re going to stand our ground from now on. Right now we gotta find our prophet and get that Demon tablet translated so we can cure Sam. I’ve been in touch with Garth, he’s rounding up other hunters and scooping up fallen angels wherever he can. This shit’s all over the news, they’re calling it a meteor shower. We have to figure out a way to shove the angels back up where they came from. And then we have to kick Metatron’s ass. I need you to give us as much intel about how heaven works and whether there are any angels we need to keep our eyes out for. We’ll probably round some of them up ourselves. And keep an eye on this Sam thing till we get Kevin back.”

“I can assist you with whatever you need,” said Cas, “but Dean, you can’t count on getting Kevin back.”

“I know. We’re okay for now. We’re going to have to take that one as it comes.”

Cas eyed him, he looked so serious, so capable. He’d thought of a plan, and he had work for everyone, even him. “You’re taking control.” He observed.

“Just till Sam gets back on his feet,” said Dean, “we’ve done a lot as a small team, but I really think that if we’re going to get through this all in one piece, we’re going to have to work bigger. We got this place for a reason, Cas. I’m not big on fate but… I dunno, I feel like it came at just the right time.”

Cas nodded, understanding. “Coniel and I will assist you with all the information you need on the angels and heaven.”

“Yeah, about that, Cas…” Dean looked like he wasn’t sure how to continue. “You know her pretty well, huh.”  
“Coniel and I are, well, I suppose we’re like twin brothers.” Said Cas.

“Brothers?” asked Dean.

“Sisters, if you prefer.” clarified Cas.

“But, she’s a chick and you’re…”

“Angels are genderless, Dean,” said Cas, his expression unreadable, “the only differences are the gender of our vessels. Surely you saw with Raphael…”

“Huh… so she’s like your twin. You rolled off the production line one after the other.”

“Yes,” agreed Cas. “We have worked together for a very long time. She was part of the group that raised you from hell.”

“So I’ve heard. Do you think we can trust her?”

“Coniel wishes to return to heaven,” Cas said, “she worries she will become human. Coniel is very devout, she serves God without question.”

Dean nodded, “so as long as we’re not gankin’ angels in front of her, working towards sending her back to the attic, she’ll help us out.”

“Yes,” said Cas.

“If something goes belly up, will she do what you tell her?”

Cas shrugged, looking down, “Dean, I honestly don’t know. I’m just a regular human male now. She could easily overpower me or…”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, “Don’t knock regular humans. Sam and I have done alright for ourselves all this time.”

“You really have.” agreed Cas.

\--

After they’d finished talking, Castiel felt much better about things. It was like a strange weight had sat around his throat and now it had been lifted. He followed Dean into the kitchen, now that he had this easy peace with him, his presence was a comfort.

“You hungry?” asked Dean.

“I think I might be,” mused Cas.

Dean’s expression was more amused than confused. He opened the old fridge and took a look inside, Cas looked in over his shoulder.

“Um,” Dean turned to face him, “what are you doing, Cas?”

Cas took a step back, it felt like Dean had been too close. “I just wanted to see. This food thing, I’m not very familiar with it.”

Dean laughed and fixed them both a sandwich, showing Cas all of the steps involved.


	6. Chapter 6

Ash was jiving with Jo at his Roadhouse bar in Ashland when he noticed it. The screeching and whining of his rig suddenly stopped. He’d been downing a cold one, clearing out his head. They’d been listening in for mentions of Jo’s folks; Bill and Ellen Harvelle. Or Mary and John Winchester. Or any other hunters who had died recently. Heck, they were dropping like flies. It was hard to make sense of all the Ennochian, the airwaves were so full that there were usually multiple conversations layered on top of one another all at once. Even though he was fluent, it was like trying to overhear conversations in a crowded pub. After drinkin’ down a six pack.

“Is your computer broken?” asked Jo.

“It’s my holy rollin’ police scanner, Jo,” said Ash, “and it doesn’t break.”

He headed over to see what the deal was. It definitely wasn’t broken. The program was still running, but the screen was blank where the electric blue waveforms had been.

Jo leaned over and poked it.

“Hey!” exclaimed Ash, shoving her away, “no one touches my rig but me.”

“Geez, sorry.” Said Jo, rolling her eyes and folding her arms.

“The program is working fine,” said Ash, already absorbed in the commands he was entering into the program, “maybe the angels switched frequencies, but I’ve rigged it so it should be picking up on everything.”

“Did they say anything about changing frequencies?” asked Jo.

“Nope,” said Ash, still typing.

“Well… what was the last thing you heard anyone saying?”

“Um,” Ash ran a hand through his hair, “something about makin’ babies and tellin’ stories… I dunno, too busy with my beer, I guess. The dude talking the loudest was Metatron, he’s been away from heaven for a while I think.”

“And now, what, all the angels have stopped talking?”

“Looks like,” he narrowed his eyes at the code, flipping his rig from one and of the spectrum to another, “I mean, there is theoretically an infinite number of frequencies they could have switched to, if they figured out I was listening but… they never mentioned anything. And we’re talking, like, thousands of angels. It would have been impossible to migrate everyone over to a new bandwidth instantly. Unless God’s behind it I guess.

“God?” asked Jo, dubiously.

“Come on, you’ve got to be a believer by now…” laughed Ash, “who else set this place up?”

Jo shrugged.

“Believe what you like, I’m cool with it,” said Ash, absentmindedly.

Jo sat down in a chair behind him “are we ever going to find them?” she asked.

“Not with the scanner down, no. But I’ll get it running again. The angels can’t hide forever, they ‘aint got my skills.”

“Well, I might head back to Jo-land for a bit, Ash.”

“Adios!” said Ash, swinging an arm into the air to high-five Jo, not taking his eyes off the screen. He was happy to have her back. Once he found Ellen it’d be like the good old days before the shit had hit the fan. And she’d have to show up at some point. Troublemakers like Ellen always showed. Ash was just glad he hadn’t heard from Sam or Dean and Bobby at all. Meant they were probably still earth-side.

\--

Jo was back within a few minutes.

“Ash?” she asked, poking her head around into the main room of Ashland, “can you come check this for me? I can’t seem to get through.”

Sighing, Ash hauled his ass outta his chair and headed over to her. He’d set up a permanent doorway between their heavens. The Ennochian formula linking the two places was engraved into the wood on the door. He’d done the same for Pam as well. It meant everyone could come and go as they pleased. He even had a few socks kept by each of the portals so they could hang them up on their doorknobs… just in case. This was heaven after all. Cloud nine was bound to float past sooner or later.

Jo reached for the handle and pulled. The door opened, but there was no Joland on the other side. Instead, the portal was bricked up.

“Weird,” said Ash, placing a hand against it, “what do you see?”

“Um,” said Jo, “a concrete panel?”

Ash laughed, “It’s bricks for me. Doesn’t change much though, can’t get through either way.”

“So what… we’re on lockdown?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ash cautioned, heading over to Pam’s door. He gave it a tug and it swung open to reveal another bricked up wall. He pushed against it just to be sure.

“Son of a… we’re on lockdown, aren’t we?” exclaimed Jo.

“Either the angels are way smarter than I thought they were and they’ve locked us down and switched frequencies or… there’s trouble in paradise.” He headed back to the main bar, Jo trailing behind him.

“That doesn’t make sense, if they were going to lock us down, why do it when I’m over here? Surely they would have waited till I was back in Joland before they shut the portals down.

“Good point,” agreed Ash, sitting back down at his rig and entering a new line of code. She was pretty smart, really. That hadn’t occurred to him yet.

“So they aren’t on to us?” asked Jo.

“Your guess is as good as mine, baby.” Said Ash.

Jo pulled a face.

Ash almost jumped out of his skin when his scanner picked up someone talking Ennochian.

“I always wanted this place to myself.” It said.

Ash could tell Jo wanted an immediate translation but he held up his hand. He didn’t want to miss anything else. They waited, Ash almost holding his breath for a full minute before Jo finally gave in.

“What did it say?” she hissed.

“I always wanted this place to myself,” said Ash, “and then he kinda sighed.”

“What?” asked Jo, scrunching her brow.

There was static across the line, Ash turned back to the screen, but nothing else came through.

“He could mean ‘this place’ as in that frequency or, maybe he’s got all of heaven to himself?”

“How?” hissed Ash, he wasn’t sure why they were still whispering, “Kill all the angels at once?”

Jo shrugged, “or kick them down to earth?” she suggested.

“It’s possible I guess,” said Ash.

“Can you hear the angels on earth from up here?”

“No. Maybe. I’ll have to boost the… antenna.” He said, dumbing it down for her.

“Thanks,” said Jo, sarcastically.

“Well, earth is basically a different dimension. It’s complicated.”

Ash was glad he wasn’t on lockdown on his own. Jo was like a sister to him, she was annoying and bratty, but she was clever and always kept her head in a crisis. Even in a crisis like this. He was cool with having her there. She helped him think.

“How can I help?” asked Jo.

“We need to find some copper. Well, a lot of copper.”

They set to work.


	7. Chapter 7

He was backed into a corner of the cave with the creature - huge and hideous - looming over him. The Dogg sisters were nowhere to be seen. Frantically, He steadied himself and viciously swiped at it with his silver-tipped dagger. He was so grateful to have it, like his own magic blade. Almost nothing else would deter the monster. His reach wasn’t long enough, and geez, it moved fast. The creature batted the blade away with a yellowed claw as though it was nothing more dangerous than a toothpick. He heard it skitter across the floor of the cave somewhere far behind.

“Balls!” he cursed, taking another step away, his back hit the stone wall of the cave.

Garth knew that the wendigo wouldn’t kill him straight away. He had, probably, a few days before it had eaten enough of his flesh that he’d die. He didn’t like to think about how puny he was, but he guessed it was a factoid he was going to have to square with pretty soon.

The creature cackled in a high-pitched - and impressively human - voice, reaching for him with his long ugly talons. He wouldn’t cower, darn it. Garth stood his ground. He felt the moment the talons cut into his skin, the pain was crazy and sent shock waves through his already adrenaline-riddled body.

“Garth!” came a voice from behind the wendigo, “Duck!”

Garth screwed his eyes shut, took a breath, and ducked. Feeling the talons scrape thickly up the skin on his arms creating bloody rivulets of pain. Instinctively he covered the bloody, ripped skin with his hands, gripping to keep the wounds closed. The wendigo didn’t grab for him again, clearly distracted by the other voices. Garth heard the splash of petrol and felt the heat of the fire searing at his skin. A hand grabbed his shoulder and hauled him, bloody and aching out of the way of the flames.

“Jesus, Garth,” she muttered and then yelled “Jane! He’s hurt!” over her shoulder.

“Just a minute!” came the calm reply.

Garth opened his eyes. Risa was already ripping at the hem of her pants to make temporary bandages for his arms. Her sister Jane was holding a flame thrower burning the wendigo to a crisp, her hand steady.

“Here,” said Risa, tugging his ruined shirt off and tying the fabric around the worst of the damage on his left arm. Garth watched as the blood soaked it through in a manner of seconds.

“That’s mildly gory,” he remarked. He’d always hoped that he’d be shirtless around the Dogg sisters in more enjoyable circumstances. But something was better than nothing. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. He’d lost a lot of blood, though, he had an excuse.

Risa looked like she knew what he was thinking so he stopped.

“I’d say you’re up to well-done!” he yelled at Jane. She lowered her flamethrower just as the wedigo fell to ashes at her feet.

“Nice work,” said Risa, tying another slice of fabric around Garth’s arm as Jane dropped down beside them.

“Jeez,” she breathed, taking a strip of Garth’s shirt and helping. He watched the two hunters, trying not to move much. Each time one of them tightened a bandage he felt the sting of the cuts from the Wendigo’s talons.

“You’re doing it too roughly,” said Jane.

“I am not,” Risa snapped back, “you’re tying them too loose.”

“I’ve done first aid, nurse, remember?”

Risa rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to need stitches, Garth,” said Jane, there was blood in her hair, it was hard to see because it was so dark, but that sickly glisten was unmistakable. She yanked it out of the way.

“Can you do them for me?” he asked.

“I’ll need my kit, it’d be easier to get you to a hospital,” she tied the last bandage off with a flourish.

“Hospitals are evil,” said Garth, weakly, “I hate them.”

The two sisters shared a look.

“Come on,” said Risa, helping him gently to his feet, let’s see whether you bleed out on the way home before we make any stupid decisions.

\--

He didn’t bleed out on the drive home. They’d been out in the wilderness hunting the wendigo for days. As they drove back into the civilized world, Garth downed a whole block of chocolate and a bag of gummy bears. He was a sucker for anything sweet. Once they were back at the boathouse, Jane patched him up pretty well. Thirty stitches in all. The dogg sisters weren’t super impressed with his digs. They were probably expecting something a little shinier when he described it as a bitchin’ houseboat with a hot tub. Instead, they got a messy space covered in anti-demon, anti-angel and anti-who-knows-what sigils. The houseboat had kept Garth safer than any motel room. He was glad to have it to himself again now that Kevin was done translating. Well, there was always room for a couple of excellent ladies like the Dogg sisters as well. After he’d showered - no hot tub with open wounds, balls - he re-bandaged his arms himself and threw on a dressing gown. People had a lot worse coming out of a wendigo attack. And now he’d have an excellent set of hunter scars to remember it by. His first wendigo. He was excited about writing about it in his hunter’s journal. Well, it was more of a diary than a journal. Unlike some hunters, Garth wasn’t afraid to write about his feelings. He could just imagine some hunter in a hundred years time falling in love with the brave warrior who had penned the Chronicles of Garth, Texas Ranger.

“Hello!” he said cheerfully, rounding the small divider between the wash room and the main room of his pad.

Risa nodded at him, sharpening one of her knives. Jane must have been up on deck.

“Your cell is charged,” she said, “been buzzing away like it’s life depends on it.”

Once he’d gotten through all the missed calls and texts, Garth kinda wished he’d taken a longer shower.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean had gotten the call earlier that morning. Garth had made contact with Kevin. The prophet was on his way over to Garth’s houseboat, the closest safe-house. He’d picked up a couple of angels of his own. Garth was injured and hunkered down with two other hunters. Dean had discussed their next move with everyone before he’d decided anything. He had been tempted to just strike out and pick up the freakin’ runaway on his own. A long-ass cruise in his baby would do a world of good right now. But he wanted this organized for once. Together, they’d all made the call. Dean was sure Sam was going to fight tooth and nail about coming along, but for once, he’d realized that he wasn’t in good enough shape to be going anywhere. He was going to watch Crowley and the angel Coniel. Dean would take Cas and Charlie with him. He’d tried to talk Cas out of it, taken him down to do some target practice. The guy was a freshly made human being. He needed time to adjust. But to his surprise, Cas wielded the shotgun like a pro and hit the target right in the bullseye. Dean wasn’t complaining, it was probably a good thing having an ex-angel on board in case they ran into any new fallen angels. And Dean wasn’t sure exactly what the deal was with Cas and Connie yet. He wanted the two of them separated for a bit and had asked Sam if he could watch her. See if anything fishy was going on.

The plan was that they’d head out on the interstate towards Garth’s houseboat and once they were within range, Garth would bring Kevin and his angels in to a meeting place. Dean hadn’t met the two Dogg sisters, he’d heard word about them and their reputation. Folks called them the Dogs of Peace, but Bobby always muttered something dark at that. There weren’t a lot of female hunters around, maybe it was the lifestyle. Most of the ones Dean had met had been married to dude hunters. Or they were their widows. He was always keen to meet more ladies, but the problem was that these two were tight with the hunters that had ganked him and Sam in their beds for kick-starting the apocalypse. Dean didn’t really want it made common knowledge that he and Sam were earth-side again. The Winchesters weren’t exactly on good terms with hunters as a whole. Luckily, they had their own resources - Garth, the Men of Letters, the Bunker and a few other good friends. They could afford to leave the business end of ghosts, wendigos, witches and djinn to the nameless hunters that Garth worked with, as long as they had Garth on side.

It was strange to be heading out on a mission. He’d always thought of them as ‘hunts’, but this time they wouldn’t be hunting anything. They were out on a bona-fide Men of Letters mission. And he was headed out without Sam. He trusted Charlie, the little sister he never wanted. And Cas… as though they were family. They were. Family don’t end in blood, he remembered. They’d split the weapons evenly between the Batcave and Baby. He knew that it was probably stupid, but he didn’t want Sam left with nothing if Crowley or Coniel went nuclear.

The sun blazed bright, just high enough that the worst of the glare was blocked out by his sun visor. Cas was riding shotgun, squinting into the sun. Dean put the passenger-side visor down too and Cas looked over, thankfully. Dean wasn’t sure what the deal was with Cas and Connie. It bothered him more than he cared to admit. He’d been so glad to see him. So glad he wasn’t dead or trapped in heaven. And Cas had just wrapped his arms around her like… well, Dean had only seen him get that physical with another person before and that was when Cas had played tonsil hockey with the demon Meg. That hadn’t worried him so much, maybe because Meg was a demon and ripe for wasting anyway. Cas hadn’t genuinely cared about her, the look in his eyes after he kissed Meg had been that steely, angel-spock look. But now that he was human it was like Cas’s face had been switched on. Powered up on emotions that he felt just like anyone else would. Dean glanced sidelong at Cas. Cas had been looking at him and when their eyes met, he looked away. The side of Dean’s lips twitched. He didn’t stare as much any more either. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He’d finally gotten used to it.

\--

They stopped for food at an abandoned-looking truck stop on the interstate. It was one of those run down places that had it’s regulars and not much else going for it. Except the food. These old-fashioned dumps always had the best food. Dean helped Cas decide what would fill him up. He’d noticed the guy tended to gravitate towards the brightly colored packets of candy and, although they were great, they wouldn’t fill him up like a burger would. He turned to order at the bar and his eyes widened. He groped for a weapon, any weapon.

Abaddon smiled, viciously, down at him. “Hello, Winchester.” She said.

Dean’s mind was in overdrive. How the hell had she gotten her meat-suit back when Sam had torched the damn thing. Even the marks and the stitches from where they’d beheaded her were gone. Her outfit was different, sure. But she was basically the same. Complete factory reset.

“Abaddon,” gasped Dean, his fingers finally finding his gun. It was loaded with devil’s trap bullets. She was a knight of hell, but it’d still slow her down.

Before he could raise his weapon, he heard a gunshot from behind him. He twisted, instinctively, to look. Charlie had fired, her eyes wide.

Abaddon laughed. Long and evil. Dean could see that the bullet had missed and lodged itself in the wall just to her right.

“Watch this,” Abaddon said, she looked like she was enjoying herself. She arched a brow and opened her mouth. The demon smoke billowed around them, charging at Charlie who fired again. The second bullet sailed straight through the smoke as it circled her and then doubled back.

“No,” said Cas, just as Abaddon broke into his body, pouring herself into him.

Charlie turned, ready to fire again, but Dean reached out and grabbed the gun, pushing it and her hands down, hard.

“He’s human,” he said to her, breathlessly, “you’ll kill him if you shoot.”

This was it. Cas really was human. Being possessed by a demon was pretty much the final proof he, or anyone else, needed.

Abaddon, inside Cas’s body, laughed again.

“Suprise,” she said, Cas swaggered toward them, “so you like my outfit?” she drew Cas’s gun.

Dean lifted his own gun to Cas’s face.

“Get out of there,” he said to her, “or it’s the last meat-suit you’ll ever possess you undead freak.”

“Why?” asked Abaddon, “it’s all shiny and new in here! Someone’s scrubbed these walls very clean. Oh, and he likes you too, by the way. He likes you a lot.”

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…” said Charlie, over the top of her.

A second female voice joined in, louder than Charlie, her voice shaking. Charlie faltered and turned. Abaddon’s meat-suit, Dean had read somewhere that her name was Josie, was saying her own exorcism. She stood, her knuckles white as she gripped the bar. She looked exhausted, but her eyes were alight. The words were similar to the exorcism that he and Sam had memorized but, there was extra stuff in there. More clauses, whole sections of words that he didn’t recognize.

Abaddon made an outraged noise and yelled “stop,” before she abandoned Cas, who fell to the floor, and the smoke headed back toward Josie. Josie didn’t look frightened. Even as the smoke pushed it’s way through her lips, still speaking Latin. Josie kept her eyes trained on Charlie until those same eyes were Abaddon’s again. All of the hurt and the fire seemed to drain out of them only to be replaced by steel, hatred.

Charlie lifted her weapon and Dean mirrored her. She might be the last real Man of Letters, but she had a knight of hell inside of her. And Dean wasn’t letting that go.

Abaddon smiled and the back wall of the building blew out, she stepped back through it just as the roof cracked sickeningly above them. Dean had just enough time to tackle Charlie to the ground before the whole thing came down on top of them.

\--

The smell of dust was everywhere. Dean coughed and maneuvered himself sideways enough for Charlie to have enough room to breathe. He looked around. The ceiling had hit the top of the shelves so the impact hadn’t been too bad. His calves had been hammered by a pile of baked beans in cans and that almost hurt worse than where the particle board from the ceiling had hit him.

“You okay?” he asked Charlie who was lying next to him.

“Could be worse, I guess,” she said, breathlessly,”

“Can you move?”

Charlie looked off to the side, thinking. “I think so,” she said, pulling at a piece of plywood above her.

“Listen,” said Dean, grabbing her wrist, “find your gun, make sure it’s loaded, stay armed. Scramble out that way,” he pointed to where he could see daylight a few feet off, “if you see Abaddon. Shoot. Don’t stop shooting till you hit her in the head. I’ll find Cas.”

Their eyes met and she took a breath.

“Okay.”

Dean twisted and yelled “CAS!” but the only reply he got was the pounding of the blood in his ears. He grabbed on to a timber beam and pulled, commando crawling over the rubble. He knew exactly where Cas had fallen when Abaddon had left him. He’d wanted to go to him straight away but the threat of the demon knight and his kill training had kept him away. Now there was nothing to stop him.

“CAS!” he yelled again, shifting plywood pieces and broken glass panes, digging through to get to where he knew his angel was.

He kicked at a big piece of particle board which shattered enough that he could pull it free. He could see Cas’s hand, still tightly gripping the gun. He practically launched himself at it, lifting heavy pieces of timber he knew he wouldn’t have been able to lift if it wasn’t Cas under that rubble. There were tins of food and boxes of crisps he pushed them away with one hand and gripped Cas’s wrist with the other. He was alive. He was fine. He could feel a pulse fluttering, so delicately, under his skin. Dean wished Cas was still an angel. The guy was just too fragile as a human.

“Cas!” he said, pushing another piece of particle board out of the way.

Dean felt Cas’s wrist move and Dean pushed the gun out of his hand and gripped him tightly, he could feel the bones in Cas’s hand. Cas held on just as strongly.

“Dean,” came a muffled response.

Relief flooded through Dean as he pushed crumbled plaster away and finally found Cas’s face.

“Jesus,” he said and his fingers finally reached Cas’s cheeks, touching forehead and eyelids and lips, checking everything was still there.

Cas coughed, the plaster was everywhere, Dean hesitated and then bent down to quickly plant a relieved kiss on his forehead before shutting his eyes and touching his own foerhead to Cas’s “are you alright?” he breathed, moving back an inch.

Cas blinked up at him.

“I think so,” he said. Dean was so close to him that he could feel his breath when he spoke. The air was dry and filled with dust. He licked his lips. Cas looked okay. He had a cut to the side of his face.

“Can you move?” asked Dean.

Together they pushed and shifted at pieces of the ruined building until Cas was able to pull himself up on top of the worst of it. He looked around and grabbed Dean, pulling him in tightly. Dean hugged back, trying not to let his relief bubble over into emotions.

“Is Charlie okay?” asked Cas.

“Yeah,” said Dean, “should be outside by now.”

And the two of them fought their way out through timber and dust and sheets of rusted tin.

 --

Dean was furious with himself. With all the other crap going on, he’d completely forgotten that a freakin’ knight of hell was on the loose. A knight of hell with a grudge against him, his brother, and everyone who had anything to do with the Men of Letters.

He had Cas ring Sam to warn him. He had rung Garth himself. Charlie had been grazed up pretty badly so he was going to have to take her to get patched up, but one of the Dogg sisters was a nurse so they headed out to the boat instead. The mood in the car was much more serious and quiet than it had been before the truck stop.

“What I don’t understand is how did she get her old meat-suit back?”

“She is a knight of hell, Dean,” said Cas, “she is much more than an ordinary demon. Maybe she was able to re-enter the vessel and re-animate it.”

“Not re-animate,” said Charlie, “that lady she’s possessing… she’s alive.”

Cas shrugged, “Angels can bring someone back from the dead, the knights of hell are only really one rank below that.”

“The meat-suit… her name’s Josie, she was an Initiate of the Men of Letters. I think she was using a pretty hefty exorcism.”

“Yeah,” agreed Charlie, “maybe there’s something in the Batcave library on it.”

“There’d have to be,” agreed Dean, “where else would she have learned something like that? If there’s a more heavy duty exorcism that works on demon-knights, hell, I’ll sit down and memorize it myself.”

The three lapsed into silence and Dean played back the whole scene in his head.

“Hey,” he said, pausing carefully and glancing at Charlie in the rear-view mirror, “Abaddon looked like she was headed for you, why did she possess Cas instead?”

“Oh… well, actually, I got myself an anti-possession tattoo like, last month.”

Dean pulled the car over as quickly as he could.

“Show me,” he said, grinning.

\--

Garth met them about a mile out and Charlie limped her way into his car. It was better if the other hunters didn’t see any Winchesters. Dean had had enough violence for a while. And that was saying something. He picked up some anti-demon hex bags from Garth as well. It was good to see the kid, really. He looked even more beat up than they did, but from a Wendigo and none of this end-of-the-world crap that they’d been dealing with. Dean was kinda jealous.

 --

He took Cas straight into town and found a tattoo parlor that didn’t look like it would give Cas a staph infection.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” he said to Cas as they sat in the front room, waiting for an artist, Cas looked at him, his eyes clear, but confused. “It didn’t really hit me that you were all the way human till Abaddon was clawing her way into you. I didn’t think she’d be able to possess you like that.

“Why?” asked Cas.

“Well, I thought that Jimmy Novak was still kicking around in there somewhere.”

“Oh,” said Cas, “no, Jimmy was not with me when I was returned to earth after Lucifer killed me. I am all alone and… all the way human, Dean.”

Dean nodded.

The artist showed them in and Dean opened his shirt wide enough to show her the tattoo Cas wanted. She took a photograph of it and then printed out a transfer to trace.

“Where do you want it?” she asked.

Cas paused, thinking, before he removed his shirts in one smooth movement. Cas had a fairly nice torso, really. The same amount of muscle definition as Dean did. But his skin was a much softer pale. Dean averted his eyes.

“Between the marks on my back, I think.” Said Cas.

Dean looked back again. Cas had two scars on his back. They sat on either side of his spine. Dean didn’t need to ask. He knew with a heavy certainty that they were from when he lost his wings. He wondered whether Cas remembered it happening. Whether it hurt. He prayed to whatever was left in heaven (aside from Metatron) that it hadn’t.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - Something bad happens in this chapter. Click the 'more notes' link below for specifics.

Sam couldn't sleep. He'd told Coniel that he was going to bed for a nap but it was pretty clear he wasn't passing out any time soon. The buzzing in his hands was annoying. He lay on his back, his hands tucked under his buttocks so that they'd go numb. It wasn't helping. It was almost like he could feel Crowley a few rooms over. Sitting and stewing in his own juices. Sam thought maybe they could get some intel out of him about the demons on earth and who they were posessing, but he hadn't questioned him about that yet. He wondered if Crowley was bored, locked in the dungeon by himself. Everyone had just left the guy to his own devices. He was a mess, anyhow. Not his usual Crowleyish self. He hadn't been since that night in the church.

Sam rolled to his side and picked up his cell from his bedside table. His hand tingled as he unlocked it to see if Dean had texted. Nothing. No news was good news really. And despite the fact that he was out of it, he'd feel pretty guilted up if something happened while they were all out in the open. But it's not like they were working a case, more like running an errand while he babysat Coniel and Crowley.

The feeling was back in his hand now. He looked down at it and it glowed weirdly back at him as though in reply. He licked his dry lips, sitting up in order to free his other hand. He knew it'd be glowing too. And there was nothing in the lore about this. Or if there was, it was locked up in a tablet that no one except Kevin could read. Sam wasn't mad at Kevin for running but he knew his prospects would be a lot brighter if the guy was still here. Like, was it really a good idea to run when all hell breaks loose? How long would he stay gone for? How long would he stay alive for?

Sam knew he couldn't just wait around on the off chance that Kevin would show up again and solve this mystery. He got out of bed, tossing his cell onto the covers. He might as well do something.

\--

Lurking outside the door to the dungeon wasn't classy. Sam knew that, but he hadn't run into Coniel yet and he was curious about what Crowley was doing in there by himself. This must be torture for him. Crowley was a businessman, he liked to be busy. Just leaving him to rot like this would be more painful to him than any kind of Sam could come up with. Maybe Dean would think of something that'd make the guy flinch but... this way was elegant, he guessed. Simple. Except for the fact that Sam couldn't seem to leave Crowley alone.

His hands throbbed again and he pushed at the doors, letting himself into the dungeon and shutting the doors after him.

"If it isn't my favourite little jailer," came the amused voice from the shadows.

"Crowley," said Sam, walking up to the table before the demon.

"To what do I owe the pleasure." inquired Crowley.

Sam hadn't really thought about what he needed from Crowley. He kept his face as still as possible as he tried to think of something. His fingers stuffed into his pockets so the demon wouldn't see the weird magic coming from them. Finally he thought of something.

"We want a list of all of the Demons currently active on earth and the names of the people who they are posessing."

Crowley's eyes glittered in the darkness, "what do I get in return?" he asked.

"Um," Sam hesitated.

"Well that's what I thought." said Crowley, "I tell you what, you take of these pretty bracelets here and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"No," countered Sam, "I can't do that Crowley, you know I can't."

It was weird, he kinda did want to set the guy free. Maybe if he was far far away from the Bunker everything would just go back to normal. Maybe Sam would get better.

"I didn't choose to be tied up in this little treehouse, tell me what you want from me and then let me go."

"I want the list..."

"Where's that brother of yours?" interrupted Crowley, "did you two have a bit of a falling out? I thought I heard raised voices before."

"Dean's running an errand, Crowley." said Sam. He was tempted to just leave, he turned to go.

"Abaddon... the last knight of hell, is posessing one Josie Sands right here in Kansas," said Crowley, "surely that's enough to be getting along with."

Sam turned back to Crowley "Abaddon's still inside her old meat-suit? But I torched her. You were there."

"Clearly," said Crowley, relishing every word, "you underestimate the abilities of a knight of Hell."

"What?"

"I saw her wake up again as we were leaving the church." said Crowley, "Not a scratch on her... I tried to tell you, but our dear Dean stuffed an old sock into my mouth if I remember correctly."

"Dammit," Sam swore under his breath.

"Oh look on the bright side," said Crowley, "the girl inside the meat suit is also still alive."

"How DO you know about Josie?"

"I've got a pretty good memory. I was just a salesman last time Abaddon was marching around, she went missing shortly after possessing the poor girl. Josie Sands has been on Hell's most wanted list for a long time now."

"Huh," said Sam.

"And to think, you tried to kill her."

"I tried to kill Abaddon," clarified Sam, his fingertips throbbing painfully.

"Abaddon, Josie. Same same. Where does the vessel end and the monster begin? I mean really, you've practically been a serial killer for the last... how long has it been now? Nine years? And now you did the responsible thing and chose your own life over the lives of thousands of posessed people... like I said, serial killer."

Sam couldn't help it, pulling one hand from his pocket, he punched Crowley on the side of the face, as hard as he could. It felt amazing. His hand shone so brightly for one second so that the entire room was illuminated. The pain vanished completely but Crowley clearly felt it, he gasped for air, his head hanging. Sam was stunned, he looked from his hand to Crowley as Crowley raised his head back up at Sam.

"Now that's unexpected." he said.

"I am not a serial killer." said Sam.

"You are," snapped Crowley.

Sam hit him again. He could hear the crunch of cheekbone on knuckles. A wave of relief coursed through his body again.

"Why don't you add me to your body count, I'm mostly human, that's your favourite kind of snack, isn't it, Moose."

Sam hit him again. He huffed, happily and laughed at the demon. For the King of Hell he sure looked pretty pathetic right now. His face all beaten, the evil in his eyes dulled by his partial-curing. This guy was never going to be much use to them, why keep him around at all?

"Do you think you scare me, boy?" asked Crowley, "Watching you say your lines about being the good guy. About saving the world. And then every single time," he spat blood onto the floor beside him, "every time you do the single worst thing you can. The pretty girl dies, or you kill her, one way or the other. It's lucky that your big brother never lets you make many of the decisions because that bad blood runs deep, Sam. Every decision you make is caked in it and there's nothing you will ever be able to do to stop it."

The force of Crowley's words made Sam stumble backwards. But the look of delight on Crowley's face. The joy of making him crack. That made Sam angrier than he had felt in a long time.

"The road to hell," said Crowley, smiling softly, "is paved with good intentions."

Sam raised his fist again and brought it down so hard that Crowley's whole chair clattered backwards onto the floor. As he climbed on top of Crowley and hit him again, Sam was dimly aware of the fact that Crowley wasn't smiling any more. The King of Hell would never smile again. Sam pulled Ruby's demon blade from his belt and buried it in his chest. All Sam felt was extacy as whatever the weird light and pain was that tied him to Crowley filled the whole room with it's brightness and then died away as well. It was so bright he could barely see Crowley's body underneath him. He definitely couldn't see wide-eyed Coniel standing at the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death (Crowley).
> 
> Bit of a hiatus, sorry about that!  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel left the wash room wondering if the hot air movement device was supposed to dry his hands or if the other humans also held their hands under it briefly only to have it achieve nothing. He rubbed his hands down his clothing to dry them properly. It was something he would have to find out about later.

"All good?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Dean." Cas replied, a little amused, "I successfully navigated the wash room."

"Well, you know, I know, nevermind.."

Dean turned to the counter and ordered them a milkshake each and some French fries to share.

"How's the ink?" asked Dean.

"Not healing as quickly as I'd hoped," replied Cas, heavily.

"Welcome to humanity." remarked Dean, handing over the money, heading over to a table and sitting down. Cas followed him.

"What's the extra text for, anyway?" asked Dean.

"Angel warding," explained Cas, "many of the fallen angels will be looking for me. This way they won't be able to locate me."

"Is that the same stuff you engraved into my ribs?"

"A shortened version," said Cas, "Ennochian shorthand, it should work just as well. I gave you a more elaborate inscription."

"More elaborate...why?" asked Dean,

"There is some beautiful artistry in this world," said Cas, "Regardless of what I think of my Heavenly Father now, it doesn't feel right to deface his best work when I can avoid it."

"Are you... is that a compliment, Cas?" asked Dean, intrigued.

"I meant humanity in general," clarified Cas, "Though you..."

A bored looking waitress came over to their table, "two milkshakes and fries?" she asked, placing the bowl of fries between them.

"Yeah, thanks" said Dean, taking one of the milkshakes off her tray. Cas watched Dean and then did likewise.

"You were saying?" asked Dean, his lips already around the straw.

"That the human race is a miraculous artwork. It's really not of import."

"So then why the shorthand on you?" asked Dean, "Surely you're an artwork too."

"I'm not sure about that any more." said Cas, sadly.

"Hey," said Dean, grabbing Cas's hand, "don't think like that, you can't afford to be thinking that way. And it 'aint true, you're just as good and as useful as me and Sam, we never had any powers and we've done a helluva lot of good in our lives. You can do the same."

"Thanks Dean," said Cas, focussing his gaze down at Dean's fingernail rather than his eyes, "besides," he added, "I didn't want to get the full angel warding, tattoos really hurt."

Dean laughed and pulled his hand back, "just wait till someone clocks you on the nose."

Cas liked the milkshake. It was nice to sit with someone and relax and eat food. Dean was particularly good at the eating part and Cas quickly realised if he didn't stake his claim on at least some of the fries, there would be none left for him. They ended up both grabbing the last one and then Dean insisted on an elaborate ritual where he cut the fry in half and Cas was able to choose which half he wanted. He took the smaller half but apparently that wasn't the way the game worked and so he got a lecture from Dean followed by laughing.

"You know," said Cas, "you should let Sam know about what happened with Abaddon before we go collect Charlie."

"Yeah, I guess," agreed Dean, pulling out his cell phone, "need to see how the kid's feeling, too."

Dean regaled the story to Sam and then asked him how things were going back at the bat-cave. His eyebrows shot up as Sam told him something. Dean was staring at Cas, listening to Sam speak. The gaze he held on Cas was discomforting. It made his insides want to squirm. He dropped his eyes and fiddled with his empty milkshake instead. He glanced up to Dean's eyes still on him and looked down again.

"Weird isn't it," said Dean after he hung up, "the staring thing. You get it now that you're human, don't you?"

"Yes," agreed Castiel, "the staring and the personal space... I apologise, I had no idea the effect they have on humans."

Dean grinned wryly, "it's okay, I was actually pretty used to it by the end, there."

"What did Sam have to say?"

"He uh," Dean furrowed his brow, "he ganked Crowley."

"What?" asked Cas, confused.

"He went in to the dungeon to interrogate him and uh, apparently Crowley pissed him off so he iced him."

Cas wasn't sure how he felt. His chest was tight and his throat had constricted.

"But Crowley had information that we need, didn't he?"

"Not anymore he don't," said Dean, leaning back. "Tell you the truth, I don't feel too bad about it. But here's where this gets interesting... it seems to have set Sam back to his healthy self. I woke him up when I rang, he was sleeping. Says he feels like a new person."

"Really?" asked Cas, fascinated.

"That's what he says, anyway." Said Dean, "I'd like to get Kevin back and translating that tablet just in case he gets sick again. He could be lying for all I know, wouldn't be the first time he'd lied to me about being sick. But he did sound much better on the phone so... that's good. Load off my mind."

"Did he say anything about Coniel?"

"Connie? No." said Dean, his face impassive.

"Oh," said Cas.

"Tell me, what's going on there?" asked Dean.

"Going on?"

"You know, with you and Connie. I know you never did any cloud seeding up in heaven but... you ever thought about her that way?"

"No, Dean!" said Cas, affronted, "she's my sister, it would be as strange as you and Sam engaging in sexual congress.

"Stranger things have happened," Dean shook his head laughing, "there's an image I won't ever get outta my head."

"Sorry," said Cas.

\--

They met with Garth and Charlie at a gas station five minutes out from the marina.

"How you feelin' Charlie?" asked Dean.

"Much better, thanks." said Charlie, "pain killers, few bandages. Jane and Risa are pro's, that's for sure."

"Jane and... Risa?" asked Dean, his eyes wide. Cas saw his hand twitch and wondered what it meant.

"Yeah, the hunters Garth's working with."

"Risa and Jane, the Dogg sisters, yeah" confirmed Garth, "a pair of amazing hunters and excellent ladies too."

"Huh," said Dean, "never knew their first names."

Cas thought Dean looked distinctly rattled and wondered if maybe Dean had met one or both of the sisters before. It seemed like a different universe, the one where he could find out simply by tapping into Angel Radio or even into Dean's subconscious in order to find out. Now he could only ask Dean in person.

"So uh, I guess Kevin will be around in a day or two? I'll let you know when he gets in."

"We'll hole up in a motel room and wait for your call. Slumber party, it'll be great." said Dean.

"Thanks for everything, Garth." said Charlie, hugging him. Cas didn't think it was customary for him to hug Garth as well so he refrained.

\--

"Cas?" came a whisper out of the darkness.

"Dean," whispered Cas, in reply.

"Are you asleep?"

"Obviously not."

"Do you think that maybe the angels falling is the start of... I don't know... a 66 Seals type gig?"

"The apocalypse?" asked Cas.

"Yeah,"

"No Dean, you and Sam averted the apocalypse."

"I know it's just... I remember something Lucifer said. About no matter where I go and what paths I take, we will always end up at the same place."

"I don't believe in fate any more, Dean. And given what we've seen and done, neither should you."

"I don't it's just that... sometimes I wonder. All roads lead to Rome."

"Yes, I remember." said Cas, "but even when that phrase was coined, it wasn't true."

"No?" asked Dean.

"There was a road that a farmer made. He was a short man but only because of his hunched back. He lived during Augustus's time in what's today called the south of France. He had donkeys and he would walk them from their pastures to the river to get water every morning. His son was a Roman Legionnaire and he paved a road for the man when he got older. The riverbank was quite steep and he almost twisted an ankle trying to get down there once. The road hi son built... it led from his house, past the pastures and down to the river. It didn't lead to Rome, though it probably looked like many of the other roads that did."

"Cas?"

"Yes Dean."

"Thankyou."

Cas was grateful for the darkness. He wasn't sure if it was customary to smile when one was trying to fall asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like my chapters are getting shorter and shorter! Expect some longer ones soon.  
> See end notes for warnings. Something not great happens in this chapter.

Kevin was grateful they hadn't run into any demons since they had found Adriel. She was a handful. It was difficult to travel very far before she was too tired to go on. Even with extra help from Paul, she needed rest. Kevin was worried that Paul was maybe giving too much energy to the other angel. He looked as tired as she was. But when he asked Paul about it, the angel just smiled, his tired eyes soft and honest. He said he'd be alright and Kevin believed him. There was something about his presence that grounded him more than anything since this whole mess had started. Maybe it was an age thing. Kevin knew he liked control and having structure to his life. It was almost impossible to believe that he was the same person he had been in highschool. Timing his time doing homework. He had wandered (and hid) for so long, it was like Paul had replaced the alarm clock of his former life. But perhaps more friendly. Even with the injured angel, they made good time. Kevin felt safe.

These angels, Adriel and Paul, didn't lie. There was no reason to, they were both on the same side. They were honest, so different to the demons and to Castiel. Kevin wondered if Cas had ever been so wide-eyed and trusting. So honest and confused by humans when he first came to earth. He made a mental note to ask Sam and Dean. Not that he really wanted to return to the bunker. It'd happen eventually, he guessed. Paul had mentioned the importance of Kevin's work more than once since they'd set off. Kevin got it. He did. But the work could wait. Someone else could pick up the slack for a while. He was done. He was out. He'd go hunting for a bit, kill some demons with Paul and Garth. Save some more angels maybe. He didn't know. Just no more tablet.

Adriel was quieter than Paul. She was hurt, it was as though she couldn't quite digest the reality of being injured. Kevin wondered what it was like to believe yourself so invinsible. To BE so invinsible for so long. She had asked quietly where they were going and Kevin had told her enough about Garth to ensure that she understood that their destination would be safe. Somewhere she could rest.

Kevin texted Garth when they reached the Marina. He didn't want the boat to be empty or, worse, filled with demons when he arrived. He knew the way so well. It brought back a lot of bad memories being back there. Day after endless day looking at the four curved walls of Garth's boat. His own personal hell. How could Paul see slaving away in a tincan as holy work? If these tablets were meant to be read so much, why weren't they just written in English? Why had it been him and his Mom.

The boat looked the same.

"We're here," he said to the others, and they followed him as he walked along the dock to the door of the boat. He did the secret knock, not that anyone would remember.

"Howdy partner, oh! Partners, I should say!" Garth opened the door and stepped back, "going to be a bit of a squeeze but we're all friends here."  
Kevin stepped into the boat. He recognised Castiel right away but the other three women, he'd never seen before. They looked like hunters. All dressed casually but practically.

"Uh, hi!" he said, turning to help Adriel over the threshold so that she wouldn't stumble.

"I'm Kevin and this is Paul and Adriel. Some uh...," he hesitated, not sure of how in the loop everyone was, "friends, I met on my way here."

One of the women approached, looking Paul apparaisingly in the eye.

"Found along the way?" she asked, "how do we know they're not here to kill us all in our sleep?"

"Relax, Risa." said Garth, clearly getting it.

Kevin could see Castiel, pale, standing on the other side of the room. Maybe he'd been hurt in his fall as well.

"This is Risa and Jane," said Garth, gesturing to the two tall hunters closest, "and Castiel and Charlie."

"Castiel?" asked Adriel, her eyes hard.

"Yes." said Cas, stepping forward.

"Is it true?" asked Adriel, her voice ringing out, "I heard today that you were the one that made us all fall. You were the one who cast us out of heaven and... here. We're locked out of heaven because of you."

Castiel held her gaze. "I suppose it is true," he said. But before he could go on, she had an angel blade in her hand and made for Cas.

Kevin was rooted to the spot, but Paul moved quickly blocking the assault.

"No, Adriel," he said. Paul's voice was remarkable. He wasn't yelling, his voice was quiet, yet it commanded attention.

"If you heard the same thing I did, you will know that although Castiel had something to do with our falling, no one yet knows what. We must not act rashly."

Adriel's eyes were ablaze. She grabbed at Paul with one hand, her body shaking violently with the effort.

"If you thwart me, Paul, I shall tell everyone he hides here."

She jerked Paul forwards and he grabbed her arms. Kevin ran forward reaching for Paul himself. Where were the others? This was happening so quickly. Were they really content on watching the angels fight it out? He had Paul's angel blade. What if Paul needed it. He fumbled at his sleeve, the point had caught in the stiching in his cuff.

"Let me pass!" screeched Adriel, yanking at Paul again.

Kevin had the blade. He turned to Paul in order to hand it over and their eyes met. The old man's eyes weren't frightened or sad. Just wise. Could eyes really evoke wisdom? Kevin wondered.

Adriel, spotting the angel blade, caught Kevin and Paul as they faltered. She drove her angel blade into Paul's chest and he lit up so brightly it whited out the whole room.

Kevin fell with him, the pattern of burned wings marked his trousers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor Character death (the angel Paul).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far! I literally haven't published ANY kind of Fanfiction since before Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows came out, possibly before Half Blood Prince (2005, holy smokes) so I'm a little nervous. But this fandom... THIS FANDOM!!!
> 
> I own nothing except the canon!fail and the mistakes. Please let me know if you notice any.


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